Nascent Blooms
by BunnyWings
Summary: The Meta of Duelist Alliance is gone, and in their place steps these shining, innocent, nascent blooms. Opening-narration-style story about the coming of the new card archetypes, and a treat for those of you who play the game competitively. Rest in peace Shaddoll, Necloths, Qliphoth, Burning Abyss (sort of), and Tellar (not really).


**~An unexpected note from the author, Bunny:  
Don't be alarmed! I didn't vanish completely after updating TT2AM! No, instead I went to finally finish (or should I say write, because I only had one opening sentence) an older fanfic that's long overdue. And I welcome you to that now!**

 **Nascent Blooms has been a long-time idea for me, ever since the Meta (state of the competitive game, for those of you not familiar with the term) changed in Japan, and the five decks that had ruled since the Duelist Alliance era were all shut down. Being someone who is extremely passionate about the game, and cares deeply about what happens in it, the change was an emotional time. On the one hand, these monster decks who we begged to be banned were finally getting their just desserts. On the other hand, we'd all developed a sort of Stockholm Syndrome for them, and it pained some of us to let go of what we'd known for so long. And with that absence came the new Meta.**

 **I'm finally getting around to expressing all of this, and I hope you all enjoy. This story is dedicated to** _the duelists who bonded with and dearly loved a deck, until its very end._

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Those were dark times; the darkest this world has ever known. In those days gone by, wars had fractured the very soul of the living, and all turned away in exhaustion, shame, apathy, fear... All but five… When soldiers who'd fought for years longed to be left to die, those five fought on and on. Their thirst for supremacy was immortal, their power creeping ever closer to the limit of what the world could hold…

One thing broke, then another, before their empire died in one violent finale… A season hasn't yet passed. The dust still settles from the collapse.

You could say there were no survivors. The living dared not step out into the field, the site of that war, named the Meta. They'd engaged in warfare long ago. It was their place no more. But for the weakened, and the hopeless, and the dispossessed, and their world so badly scarred, there came one very tiny light.

Nascent blooms came into the world. They were bright. They were new. But the world of the weary saw them as the purest and most fragile things… So much death had been witnessed in the war that went on too long…would the higher authority bless them with a gift such as this? This new life was so young and innocent. Could they nourish it and raise it on that field, knowing the blood that had been spilt before?

They would. The new life need not be told the horror that came before them… They were good, and like all things good, whatever fragments left behind from horror would treasure them as good. Those nascent blooms, their softly smiling faces, their infant innocence apparent, their delicate bodies like glass so thin, were welcomed with love.

The survivors of the world told them where they stood, that they were born on the field of the Meta. Then they said to the new life, "This is where you will live, and where your creator wanted you to live. Some of you may fall from this place, but we will be there to catch you. Fear not if this happens, for it happens to us all. We must stand in this place as long as our creators wish us to, then we must make room for new life to stand. To hold on too long, to things not meant to be, will only cause oblivion and heartache."

And the first among the nascent blooms said with gentle grace, "No. This is our birthright, and we will take it." Their light became one so cold. The infants turned to those that welcomed them, and slaughtered every last one that stood too close.

Those without the bravery to flee could only watch in terror as these innocent siblings tore one another limb from limb, and war, that all-consuming murderer that had so recently vanished, now rained upon the Meta.

These wolves in sheep's clothing obliterated one of their own before the real war even began, and they had been given no chance to raise their sword. But the others fought. They fractured the sky with grim scythes of wind. The watched on high hills while their weaponry punctured the field with merciless lightning. They called on their warships in armada after armada to rain death on the world. They morphed and twisted and consumed the living. They grinned behind masks at those who begged for mercy.

The fragments of old watched behind a veil of grey. None could step onto the field of the Meta. Too much blood had been spilled, and it was being spilled still. And yet...there were those who took that step… Demons of the last war pushed beyond: those cast aside, those who had wanted to rule… _Those who knew not how to be afraid._

Mechanical nightmares joined the fray, both crafted of steel and cloth. Elemental giants strode in their wake, with a new leader prepared for the bloodbath ahead. Yet more became embroiled and yet more died in a war against infants.

Those nascent blooms, with their angelic lights, how had they become this? And this might that shattered the world and murdered many was the power of newborns. The war was…no…the war _is_ as young as those that started it. Years lay ahead, and in those years, these new lives will mature, gain power, and come into their own in the immortal war for ultimate supremacy.

To those lost in the war of old go our thoughts. Those tyrants we dethroned, was their conflict merely delaying this even more horrific spectacle? Were the very ones destroying us our saviors?

We look up to the field of the Meta. Some of us are within the veil below. We watch, we listen, we hope, we await the gift from the higher authority that will mend our old wounds and push us into the war to help. Some of us are on the field. We are there, we are fighting with everything we have and more. To improve, to fight better, to fight harder, it consumes us… And on the field, we still look up and shade our eyes, and bear the weight of how much farther we have left to go. And beyond that…beyond the mind-breaking electricity and manic wind, and beyond, even, the glinting starships in the night…we wonder…

How long will this war go on? Will there only be more war beyond it? Will those higher authorities become wiser this era and have the mercy to let it end?

Those nascent blooms have the same thoughts in their own minds. They look to their creator, they reverently plead for strength, and they ask for a swift victory. No matter what they do, they are their creator's children, and if they are favored, a blind eye will be turned on their sins.

But they aren't the creator's only children. All fragments, both broken and renewed, both silent and warring, wish for one thing: That in this new war, few will die…and that those nascent blooms will stop their slaughter, remember they are loved, and realize that the faces of their enemies are the faces of the very ones who wished peace with them…

The day those innocents cry into the arms of those of the old world, those who adopted them, will be the day they allow room for all to stand in the field of the Meta, together as one, as family, as equals, as friends…not as kings on thrones of blood above their subjects…

…On that day, in this barren, lifeless world of grey, those nascent blooms will become flowers…and at long, long last...the grey will be gone. The world will be lush. The Meta will be happy.

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 **Thank you all immensely for supporting my first Original Yugioh story. I can never say how much the influx of views and reviews means to me...so...the only thing I can do is just say Arigato from the bottom of my heart. If there are any questions, criticisms, or comments, please put them in the review box! ^_^ Anyone who can guess who all the different members of the warfare are gets a cookie!  
I'll see you then,  
~Bunny**


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